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Updated: May 2, 2025
She's O.K. and so's her paper, but her prices aren't high." He considered. "Better come to our shop. We run two monthlies and a weekly, one critical, one household, one entirely for children. The boss is a great pal of mine. Name of Farraday an American. Come on!" And he wheeled her abruptly back the way they had come.
The little lady slipped away, and Mary, feeling unexpected pleasure in the quiet room and the soft bed, closed her eyes gratefully. At luncheon, or rather dinner, for it was obvious that Mrs. Farraday kept to the old custom of Sunday meals, a silent, shock-headed boy of about ten appeared, whom McEwan with touching pride introduced as his son.
Mary watched the dance with admiration, and wished to compare her impressions of it with her husband's. She tried to catch his eye across the room at the end, but he had drifted away toward the dining room. Momentarily disappointed, she turned to find Farraday at her elbow, and gladly let him lead her, also, in search of refreshments.
The Rosebud had been opened up and swallowed by the advancing wave of people westward. But there was more land! Fred Farraday drove me home from Presho, weary to the bone, and content to ride without speaking, listening to the steady clop-clop of the horses over that quiet road on which we did not meet a human being. And in my pocketbook $400, the proceeds from the sale of the postcards.
"I've brought you a find, Farraday. This lady writes for children she's printed stuff in England. I haven't read it, but I know it's good because I've seen her telling stories to the kids by the hour aboard ship, and you couldn't budge them. You can see," he waved his hand at her, "that her copy would be out of the ordinary run." This absurdity would have embarrassed Mary but that Mr.
Farraday to come over and join us in the dedication, and after a short service the boy Baptist divine had brought his flock to do honor to the opening of the new fold. In fact, by count almost every citizen in Goodloets stood before the chapel doors and waited for them to be thrown open.
Farraday answered, "but where thee has worked I have only prayed for it." "If prayers are heard, I am sure yours should count more than my work, dear lady," said Constance, affectionately pressing the other's hand. The little Quaker's eyes were bright as she looked at her friend. "Ah, my dear, thee is too generous to an old woman."
But Gunther neither watched nor chattered, he simply was, seeming to draw a silent and complete satisfaction from her nearness. Of the men he took only cursory notice, talking sometimes with Stefan on art, or with Farraday on life, but never seeking their society. Indoors Gunther seemed negative, outdoors he became godlike.
"She has written a second 'Child's Garden, almost rivaling the first, and we have a child's story of hers which will be as popular as some of Frances Hodgson Burnett's," summed up Farraday. Mary blushed with pleasure at this praise, but was about to deprecate it when Stefan signaled her away. "Mary," he called, "I want you to hear this I am saying about the Cubists!"
"Make that concession to my pride in our friendship," he smiled back. She saw that she could not refuse without ungraciousness. Stefan had disappeared, but now came quickly in from the kitchen door. "Farraday," he called, "I've been looking at the barn; you don't use it, I see. If we come, should you mind my having a north light cut in it? With that it would make an ideal workshop."
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